Signs
by idolsgirl
Summary: (Nothing to do with the movie!) 'There were signs, way before it ended, that their relationship was destined to fail.' BA, a picnic and a rose.


Disclaimer: I own none of the Buffy characters, I'm just borrowing.  
  
A/N: This takes place, some time after 'Amends' (sn. 3) but before Faith went bad. Please review!  
  
************************  
  
There were signs, way before it ended, that their relationship was destined to fail.  
  
One night, for example. They had decided to have one of those romantic nights out that lovers love. A picnic in the moonlit cemetery, to be precise. A cemetery might not have been everyone's idea of what makes romantic, but for the Slayer and her vampire lover, this was Heaven on Earth; the way everything was silent, away from the hustle and bustle of the town, the way the place, bathed in some silky, silvery substance, radiated tranquillity and familiarity, the way both of them were together without any major evil threat in their thoughts...everything was just perfect.  
  
Buffy unfolded the large towel and unfurled it at the foot of a large tombstone. Angel was resting against it with Buffy unpacking the sandwiches close by. There was also some fresh blood, for Angel, and a bottle of red wine, for both.  
  
Angel looked at her as she neatly set everything up. He loved it when she did ordinary things. It made him forget that she was the Slayer, and that for all they knew, she could die the next day. It made everything seem normal.  
  
Buffy noticed him staring.  
  
'What? Don't do that! It's embarrassing!'  
  
'Don't do what?'  
  
'Stare! You stare! It makes me all... tingly,' she smiled shyly, looking away.  
  
He kept looking at her for a while as she lifted her head to look into his eyes.  
  
'I love you,' he whispered.  
  
'I love you too,' she smiled, kissing his lips lightly.  
  
Everything was going too well.  
  
Angel pulled something out from behind his back. It was a white rose.  
  
'For you,' he said softly.  
  
She took it, eyes shining, smiling. But perhaps she had squeezed a little too hard. One of the thorns pricked her index finger. She winced, putting her finger to her mouth. It would close in a moment anyway, what with accelerated healing powers and the cut being not too deep. But she felt like making a fuss. Angel was so sweet when she made a fuss!  
  
'Here, let me,' he said. He took her hand in his and slowly lifted her hand to his face. For a moment, he was just a normal guy, having a normal night out with his girlfriend, and sweetly taking care of her. For a moment. Then, he put her finger to his lips.  
  
Buffy couldn't see his face; his head was bowed down. Besides, it was dark despite the brightness of the moon. But she started feeling a certain urgency in his actions. She was sure the cut should have healed by now, but Angel was still sucking at her finger, and rather violently. Then, he lifted his head.  
  
Buffy let out a small yelp but immediately, he pressed his hand on her mouth. The taste of her blood had brought it all back, what he'd kept himself from for so long. He was an animal again, he was anything but normal, and his hungry eyes shone with the power of the demon inside him.  
  
He grabbed the Slayer by the waist, spun her around and slammed her onto the tombstone behind them. He ignored the terror, and pain, and hurt, and love in her eyes. He just wanted to drink her, every last drop. Slowly, he tilted his head and closed in on her neck. Licking his lips. Ignoring her silent cry. He was oblivious to everything but the lure of her exposed neck and the lingering taste of her blood in his mouth.  
  
But the second before biting into her, he smelled something. It took him a while to realise that he was smelling her hair. Before going out, she had washed her hair with the shampoo he had bought her for Christmas. It was nothing special; just a honey scented one. But it was his gift to her. She had wanted to please him. It had saved her life.  
  
He connected, remembered, loved again. As realisation hit, he sprang back and ran off as fast as he could in the opposite direction. The Slayer slid down the cold, hard marble. She picked the rose up and squeezed it tight, the thorns scratching her hand. A she looked at the blood trickling down her palm, her dry sobs racked the empty night.  
  
They weren't normal. 


End file.
